Post by kiera on Jan 11, 2011 12:31:57 GMT -5
“Broken Branches”
Among petals pale as death,
Do cold bare feet walk.
Over brittle branches,
That make no sound as they shatter.
They should make a sound;
Those shattering branches.
But they stay silent,
And soon pale feet are gone.
Feet like have never seen the sun,
White and smooth they are soft to the touch.
Do they float over the forest floor?
They do not.
They step, they walk, they destroy,
Those feet shatter the most brittle branches,
And leave hardening footsteps in drying mire,
Blades of grass wave no more as weight crushes them down.
I would cry for those branches,
Broken beneath careless feet.
I would cry for those branches,
But the careless feet are my own.
Among petals pale as death,
Do cold bare feet walk.
Over brittle branches,
That make no sound as they shatter.
They should make a sound;
Those shattering branches.
But they stay silent,
And soon pale feet are gone.
Feet like have never seen the sun,
White and smooth they are soft to the touch.
Do they float over the forest floor?
They do not.
They step, they walk, they destroy,
Those feet shatter the most brittle branches,
And leave hardening footsteps in drying mire,
Blades of grass wave no more as weight crushes them down.
I would cry for those branches,
Broken beneath careless feet.
I would cry for those branches,
But the careless feet are my own.